Demons
by Swishy Willow Wand
Summary: The villagers had found a man washed up on the beach one morning, clothes ragged, barely alive. His entire body was bruised, dark greens and purples and murky browns; the colors of a demon.


**Demons**

There was a small island on the edge of the Earth Kingdom, close enough to the North Pole for freezing winters and chilly rains, but far away enough to escape the raids.

The villagers had found a man washed up on the beach one morning, clothes ragged, barely alive. His entire body was bruised, dark greens and purples and murky browns; the colors of a demon.

The people had been wary at first. Even unconscious the man seemed lethal, unhinged; eyebrows tilted fiercely in an unaware scowl, sharp frown lines creasing his skin. The rags that had been his clothes bore the unmistakable signs of belonging to a Fire Nation soldier, a high ranking commander or admiral, someone bent on the destruction of their people. Awake, he would be a brutal danger to the island colony, bent like others of his fierce nation on tyranny and domination.

The village leader had seen many hard times in his life. The war was cold and difficult, and hope was almost impossible to find. Yet killing this man, though he was already on the verge of death, would be a death sentence to his people if anyone ever knew. The Fire Nation, ruthless in the murder of the other nations, did not take kindly to the murder of its own citizens.

He was left with no choice.

The man was taken to a healing hut on the edge of the island; restrained and shackled, the man lay on his bed as the island healers began their work.

The shackles began to seem increasingly unnecessary, though; after one month, the man was still comatose. The healers were not certain as to what was ailing the man; he was simply unconscious, and dying slowly. He never woke, but occasionally cried out--strange words. _Moonslayer_. _Avatar. Zuko._

The chieftain became increasingly grim. The village remembered the brief hours the moon had turned crimson, and the short time the night had been pitch black. They knew of the Avatar, and they knew of the Fire Nation prince.

This man was ill news, indeed.

_Unnatural_. The whispers flew through the village, from the oldest grandmother to the youngest babe. _Unnatural. Our town will be cursed through him_.

_Kill him._

The village council met together to decide the fate of the strange man. Old men, stone faced and severe, locked themselves in a small hut for seemingly endless days, speaking in hushed tones. The villagers were ashen and quiet, waiting for the verdict, and in a small healing hut on the edge of the village, the soldier's mutterings increased tenfold.

After four long days of debate, the council stepped out and faced the village with their decision: a message would be sent to the Fire Nation, informing them of the rescued soldier. The strange man would no longer be their responsibility.

The women of the village cried out in fear. Their island had long been spared by Fire Nation presence, too small to draw notice. This man--_demon man_, the villagers whispered--would be their undoing. The men of the village steeled their spines, returning home to sharpen their swords and axes. They would not be caught unawares.

The village held its breath for three long weeks, checking the horizon hourly with bleak fascination. The soldier was slowly turning an ashen grey, his breathing ragged, his cries more and more urgent and less and less coherent.

Then, early one morning while fishing, a group of men spotted the dreaded vessel, the gleaming steel hull of a small Fire Nation ship on the horizon. The villagers gathered on the beach, hushed and terrified. Only the man remained unaware.

By midday, the ship had anchored in the harbor. The villagers stared as three young women stepped lithely off. The village leader took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

The young women, none of them looking older than sixteen, approached the village coolly. The chieftain gave no attention to the bored looking girl or the one dressed in pink; instead, he focused solely on the young woman leading the way, dressed in deep reds and wearing light armor, the one with a small golden flame holding her topknot.

_Royalty_.

When the girls had reached the villagers, he chieftain gave a stiff, low bow. The girl smiled coldly. "I am Azula, daughter of Fire Lord Ozai," she announced, looking hard at the crowd. She spared the village leader a disdainful glance. "Take me to him."

"Yes, Your Highness," he whispered, shame flooding his being. To be such a coward, to kowtow to the Fire Nation…it was for the good of the village, to humor the princess in such a way, but it burned his pride.

He led her to the healing hut, her two companions and the entire village following behind. Yards away, he stopped, pointing. "The man is in there," he said solemnly. The young women entered the hut and, short moments later, came back out, a hard look on Azula's face.

"Kill him," she said sharply, looking directly at the leader.

He gasped, shaking his head with fear. He wouldn't, he _couldn't_…

The princess looked around with a smirk at the small village that had taken generations to build and would require one flick of her capable wrist to destroy. Laughing coldly, she said, "Remember this when I someday reign over you."

With a quick movement, a blast of blue flames shot toward the hut. The thatch roof quickly caught on fire, and the building was ablaze in a matter of seconds. A terrible scream sounded from within. The villagers stood, horror stricken, and the three young women began to return to their ship.

As the princess walked away, whole and healthy, with lips the shade of cherries and eyes the color of molten gold, wielding azure flames, the chieftain wondered what colors demons really were…

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Not entirely sure how pleased I am with this one…but I've been pretty obsessed with Zhao and Azula lately….

-SWW


End file.
